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The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/Icy-Dirt6058 on 2025-01-03 13:53:40+00:00.

[ Part 1 ]

The decision to leave the church was inevitable. Martin and I had spent countless nights sitting in the dim glow of our candlelight, discussing the growing dangers outside. The infected weren’t the only threat anymore. Supplies were running low, and the barricades we had built felt more fragile with every passing day. The church, once a beacon of hope, now felt like a tomb waiting to be sealed.

“We can’t stay here forever,” Martin said one evening, his voice cutting through the oppressive silence. “The infected are getting bolder. It’s only a matter of time before they break through.”

“I know,” I replied, my mind racing with possibilities. “But where do we go? Walking out there is a death sentence, and we don’t have the supplies to make it far on foot.”

Martin leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “We need a vehicle. Something that can take us far from here, somewhere quiet, somewhere the infected haven’t reached yet.”

I laughed bitterly. “And where exactly is that? The whole world’s gone to hell. Every town, every city, it’s all the same.”

“Not everywhere,” Martin said, a hint of determination in his voice. “There’s gotta be places where the infected haven’t spread, places too remote or isolated. But we’ll never get there without wheels.”

“Okay, let’s say we find a vehicle. Where do we even start looking? Most of the cars around here are stripped or useless.”

Martin’s eyes met mine, a spark of resolve igniting in his gaze. “The quarantine outpost.”

I stared at him, incredulous. “You’re joking, right? That place is crawling with soldiers. They’d shoot us on sight if we got too close.”

“Not if we’re smart about it,” he said. “They have vehicles, supplies, everything we need to get out of here. It’s risky, yeah, but it’s our best shot.”

The idea was insane, but it also made a twisted kind of sense. The quarantine zone was a fortress, heavily guarded and stocked with everything the military needed to maintain control. If we could get in and take what we needed, we could stand a chance at survival.

“Alright,” I said after a long pause. “Let’s say we go for it. How the hell do we pull this off? We’re two people against an entire outpost.”

Martin leaned back, his lips pressed into a thin line. “We’ll have to scout it out first. Figure out their routines, their weak points. There’s no way we’re walking in blind.”

“And once we’re in?”

“We find a vehicle, load it up with whatever supplies we can carry, and get out fast.”

It sounded simple when he said it, but I knew better. Nothing about this plan would be easy. The soldiers weren’t just fighting the infected, they were fighting to maintain control in a world that had spiraled into chaos. If they caught us, we’d be as good as dead.

“We’ll need a distraction,” I said, my mind already running through the possibilities. “Something to draw their attention away while we make our move.”

Martin nodded. “And we’ll need to move fast. Once they realize what we’re doing, it’ll be a race to get out of there alive.”

The weight of the plan settled heavily between us, but there was no turning back. Staying in the church was a death sentence, and this, as crazy and dangerous as it was, felt like our only chance.

“We’ll start tomorrow,” Martin said. “At first light, we’ll head out and scout the outpost. See what we’re up against.”

I nodded, a mixture of fear and determination swirling in my chest. “Tomorrow.”

As I lay on the cold, hard floor of the church that night, I couldn’t help but think about everything that had led us to this point. The world was unrecognizable, a nightmare brought to life. But for the first time in a long time, I felt a glimmer of hope. It was faint and fragile, but it was enough to keep me going.

The first day was about finding a safe spot. After hours of carefully navigating through back alleys and overgrown streets, we discovered an abandoned factory with a partially intact second floor that offered a clear view of the quarantine zone's perimeter. From there, we could see the tall fences topped with barbed wire, the floodlights that bathed the area in harsh brightness, and the soldiers patrolling the gates.

"We need to figure out their routine," Martin whispered "Every shift, every guard rotation, every weak spot."

I clutched my binoculars tightly. I remember spending hours watching the soldiers move, noting the times when patrols shifted and when supply trucks entered and exited the compound. I understood pretty fast that this was no small operation, the quarantine zone was a fortress, its defenses tight. The soldiers worked in teams, always keeping an eye on one another, and the gates were manned around the clock.

Our first day of surveillance was disappointing. "They’re too organized," I muttered. There’s no obvious weak point."

"We’ll find one," Martin said with quiet determination. "We just have to keep watching."

The next day, we returned to the factory at dawn.

This time, we focused on the soldiers themselves. There were about two dozen, a mix of hardened veterans and younger recruits. The veterans moved with efficiency, but on the other hand, the younger soldiers, although disciplined, occasionally let their guard down, smoking their cigarettes during quiet moments or chatting when they thought no one was watching.

''Bingo'' I muttered under my breath.

"The younger ones are the weak link, If we’re going to create a distraction, it’ll have to be during their shift." Martin noted.

"Even if we manage to slip past them, how do we deal with the others?'' I asked.

"We’ll figure it out," Martin said, though his tone betrayed his own uncertainty. "For now, we keep watching."

By the third day, our supplies were running dangerously low. Meals consisted of stale crackers and sips of water, and our energy was waning. Still, we pressed on, returning to the factory at dawn and staying until dusk. My notebook was filled with information: patrol timings, gate activity, and any unusual occurrences. We noticed that supply trucks arrived every evening around 6 p.m., and their cargo was inspected by a team of soldiers before being allowed inside.

''This could be our opportunity.'' I said skeptical, waiting for Martin.

''You're right.'' he agreed firmly.

On the fourth day, we shifted our focus to the fences. The chain-link barriers were reinforced with steel posts, and the barbed wire at the top would make climbing nearly impossible. However, there was a section near the western edge that seemed less heavily patrolled. The floodlights in that area flickered occasionally, suggesting a potential blind spot.

"If we can time it right, we might be able to get through there," I suggested, though my voice lacked confidence.

Martin shook his head. "Too risky. We’d be exposed for too long."

"So what’s the alternative? We can’t just sit here and starve while we wait for the perfect opportunity."

Martin placed a hand on my shoulder, his grip firm. "We’ll figure it out. But rushing in will only get us killed."

By the fifth day, desperation was beginning to take its toll. We identified the key players among the soldiers, the commanding officer, a no-nonsense woman who rarely left the central building; the supply officer, who seemed to oversee the truck inspections; and the younger recruits, who often worked the night shifts. But knowing who we were up against didn’t make the task any less daunting.

"We need a distraction," Martin said that evening as we huddled in the factory, our voices low to avoid attracting attention. "Something big enough to draw most of the soldiers away from the gates."

"Like what? We don’t have explosives or anything like that."

Martin thought for a moment, then said, "Fire."

"Fire?"

"If we can set something ablaze near the eastern perimeter, it might force them to divert their attention."

"And while they’re distracted, we make our move?" I asked

"Exactly." Martin replied.

The sixth day was mostly spent collecting the tools for the operations, anything we could find worked.

That night, as we sat in the factory, the weight of what we were about to do was consuming me. "What if it doesn’t work?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

"It has to," Martin replied. "We don’t have a choice."

By the seventh day, Our food was gone. My stomach growled constantly, and Martin’s movements had become sluggish. We couldn’t afford to wait any longer. As we prepared to leave the factory for what could be the last time, I was afraid. 

"Are we really doing this?" I asked, my voice trembling.

Martin nodded, his expression was grim. "We don’t have a choice."

As we silently approached the quarantine zone through the shadows, I could feel my heart pounding. The plan was simple but dangerous: set the shed on fire, use the chaos to slip through the western blind spot, and make our way to the vehicle lot. But even the best-laid plans could go horribly wrong, I've seen it too many times in movies.

Everything started smoothly. We crept through the tall grass, just like we had planned. The shift change happened exactly on schedule, and the distraction worked like a charm.

As the soldiers hurried toward the shed, Martin and I made our move, slipping through the shadows toward the vehicles. Once the area cleared enough, Martin rushed for the vehicles, while I headed for the small guardhouse. The...

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